


It's A Boy!

by PepperF



Series: The future of the Air Force, the program, the entire planet (God help us) [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, F/M, Part Two, Stargate AU, Stargate has the best tropes, i love this au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 20:24:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10601565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: Some kind of de-ageing beam, she'd been told, and her brain had gotten stuck on all the fascinating medical implications without stopping to consider the bigger picture. So she wasn’t even remotely prepared to meet pre-pubescent Bellamy Blake, in all his chubby-cheeked, button-nosed, unruly-curled glory.Raven—his current babysitter, whom Clarke was here to relieve—smirks. "He's fucking cute, isn't he?""Oh my god, he'sadorable!"





	

**Author's Note:**

> Clearly Bethany's fault, she encouraged me to write more in this universe. :P
> 
> This one is a prequel to the previous fic.

"Shut up," says Blake, before she's even said a word—before her brain has caught up with her eyes. "Don't you _dare_ fucking laugh, Griffin."

But she's still too busy reeling. "Oh my god. I mean, they told me what had happened, but I never thought you'd be..." She trails off, waving her hand at all four-foot nothing of him. 

_Some kind of de-ageing beam,_ she'd been told, and her brain had gotten stuck on all the fascinating medical implications without stopping to consider the bigger picture. So she wasn’t even remotely prepared to meet pre-pubescent Bellamy Blake, in all his chubby-cheeked, button-nosed, unruly-curled glory.

Raven—his current babysitter, whom Clarke was here to relieve—smirks. "He's fucking cute, isn't he?"

"Oh my god, he's _adorable_!"

"Yeah, too bad he's still normal Blake underneath, it really spoils the effect."

The look he gives Raven is a baby version of his usual sullen glare, and Clarke has to cover her mouth to suppress a giggle. But Blake hears her, of course, and turns his fierce glare back on her. The familiar expression in his now-tiny face is too much, and Clarke _completely loses it_.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she says, after Raven has shoved her into a chair, and she's finally managed to get ahold of herself enough to speak. She wipes her eyes. "I just—your _face_ —" The laughter threatens to erupt again, and she rubs both hands vigorously over her face and carefully doesn't look at him. "I'm sorry," she says again. "This is a terrible p-predicament and not in any way a joke."

Blake has crossed his arms. She's not sure if the tinge of pink on his cheeks is anger or embarrassment, but it's so hard to take him seriously when he looks like he's protesting his bedtime. "You realize I could be stuck like this forever, right?" he bites out.

That does sober her, and she straightens. "I'm sure your team will fix it," she says, wincing at the soothing, maternal tone in her voice. "I mean, this isn't the first time this has happened. Wasn't it General O'Neill who..." She trails off as she remembers more about that particular mission.

"He was a clone, and he had to go back to high school," he snaps. "Look at me, Griffin! I'd be in fucking _elementary school_!"

And, yeah. She loses it again.

\---

She and Major Bellamy Blake aren't enemies, exactly. If the base was overrun by alien troops by the bucketload, or if an army stood between her and a Gate home, she knows without question that she could rely on him to have her back, to do what needed to be done, to persist in the face of overwhelming odds. But that trust in his loyalty and fortitude doesn't mean that she has to like him. He's been an unrelenting jerkwad to her since she arrived on base, and she doesn't even know _why_. 

She has a number of theories. Number one—based on bitter experience—is that he's got a chip on his shoulder about women in command roles. Number two is her relative youth and inexperience, although hopefully she's proven her capabilities by now. Number three is her family connection—her mother is the CMO, her dad led a team, the General is her stepfather, and most of the old guard are her honorary aunts and uncles, so although she doesn't seek it out, she still sometimes gets treated like the SGC's little princess. 

Number four is that he's just a dick.

But, against all rational thought, it's a lot easier to tolerate his grumpiness and snarky comments when it's wrapped in a cute maybe-eight-year-old with freckles. She kind of wants to take him out and buy him ice cream. 

She can't do that, of course, but when he complains that he hasn’t eaten since breakfast, she agrees to escort him to the commissary so readily that he gives her a suspicious look. 

"Well, we know it's not catching," she explains, lamely. "And I don't want you passing out on me, it's been years since I did my rotation in pediatrics."

"God." He puts a hand over his face—a gesture that looks really out of place in his current form. "Could you just _not_? People have been treating me like a kid all morning, and I swear to god..."

"Sorry." And for a moment she is sorry. This must be intensely annoying for him—not to mention worrying. What if he is stuck like this, and has to grow up all over again? That's got to be a total mindfuck. He might be a dick, but that doesn't mean he deserves to go through puberty twice. "Come on, Blake, don't think of this as me treating you like a kid. Think of this as me treating you with my normal amount of disrespect."

Blake pauses for a moment, thinking it through. "Okay, but you're trying to cheer me up right now," he points out. "That's not normal at all. You're being _nice_." He sounds disgusted—but lighter, nonetheless.

"Ugh, you're so paranoid! I can't win. Come on, let's go eat. There might be ice cream," she adds, in a sing-song voice.

His response is definitely not appropriate for little ears.

\---

"Run it past me again," says Blake. 

The Refurdlach sighs in annoyance. "You walk through the beam. It will restore you to your previous age. If that is what you want." Apparently this is kind of incomprehensible to their people, but whatever. Aliens are weird.

"And it's not going to de-age me further?" Blake is understandably wary about this. "It doesn't look any different."

"We have reversed the setting," says the Refurdlach, rolling their eyes.

"Right. Sure. That sounds totally reliable," says Blake. He looks at Clarke. "What do you think?"

She's not sure why, exactly, she's on this mission. His team could have handled it without her, even with their suddenly-juvenile CO. But apparently he's regained a sense of humor about the situation, because when she asked if she was standing _in loco parentis_ , he stuck his tongue out at her.

"Don't worry, Blake. If it turns you into a baby, I'll adopt you," she promises. "Me and Miller. Right, Miller?"

"Speak for yourself," says Miller. "He'd cramp my bachelor lifestyle."

"I want Monty to decide my bedtimes," argues Blake. "And Jasper to..." He trails off, looking dubiously at Jasper.

Jasper raises his hands. "I'm good. I don't feel left out, I promise. I'm truly okay with the fact that I'd be a terrible parent."

"Jesus, fine," sighs Clarke. "Monty and I will co-parent, leading to some rom-com shenanigans that will make us realize that we're deeply in love, after which we'll get married, adopt you for realsies, and give you a baby brother or sister. That okay with you, Monty?"

Monty shrugs. "Bisexuals unite," he says, offering her a fist to bump.

"Great, that's decided. Okay, Blake?"

Blake looks around at them with a fondness that is too old for his face. "I guess it'll have to do," he says. He looks back at the arch—a deceptively simple, unadorned, warningless piece of tech, and it's no wonder he walked through it the first time without even thinking—and hitches up his adult-sized ABU pants. "If I'm stuck as a kid, I want a fucking bike for my eighth birthday," he says, and steps through.

There's a flash, a buzzing noise, and Blake is suddenly considerably taller, and broader about the shoulders, filling out the T-shirt and pants that had previously swamped him. He was a cute kid, but Clarke is glad to see _normal_ Blake again—to an extent that surprises her. 

He stops on the other side and pats himself down like he's checking to see if they've missed anything, and then glances back at his team and Clarke. "Well? How do I look?"

"Back to normal, I'm sorry to say," calls Miller.

Blake flips him off, and walks back to them, carefully skirting around the arch. He takes the boots that Miller hands him, and drops to the ground to put them on. "Thank god that's over," he sighs. "That was _so_ fucking weird."

"For everyone involved," nods Jasper. "I'm going to have real problems seeing you as an authority figure." He flinches at the adult-sized glare that's turned on him. "But I'm sure I'll get over it, sir."

"You'd better," mutters Blake. He glances at Clarke, and rubs one hand on his jaw, fingertips lingering on the light stubble that's just coming through. "Thanks," he says, gruffly.

"You're welcome."

Monty hurries over before he can say anything else. "Hey, I was just talking to the Refurdlach about what would happen to your adult memories if you were de-aged right back to being a baby, and they said that—"

"Stop," orders Blake, holding up a hand. "Just stop right there. I _seriously_ don't wanna know. Let me just appreciate the fact that it didn't happen." He hauls himself to his feet, and looks at the Refurdlach, giving them a terse nod. "Thank you for the honor," he says, and even manages to make it sound sincere. After all, the intention had been to express their gratitude; it wasn't their fault that they'd misunderstood the Tau'ri mindset.

"You are welcome, Major Blake," they reply.

Later, as they walk back towards the Gate, Blake falls into step with Clarke, a few feet behind the others. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, looking oddly nervous. It's a new look for him—cute, but in a _completely_ different way than before. He is, as an adult, unquestionably hot.

She's sure this fondness she's developed—due entirely to his outward appearance as a small and helpless child—will wear off soon. The next time he's a huge jerk, probably.

"Am I gonna make things weird if I say I wouldn't hate to be adopted by you?" he asks, at last.

Clarke snorts. " _Really_ weird," she assures him, and he smirks broadly at the ground. "Honestly, who says that kind of thing to a colleague? That's wrong on every level."

He shrugs. "Sue me for trying to give you a compliment," he retorts. "Okay, you'd suck as a parent and any child would be cursed to have you. Happy?"

"Damn skippy. Jesus, Blake, what the fuck?"

She's definitely going to buy him a bike.


End file.
